During the hot months these animals lie dormant, but on the approach of the rainy season they come forth in great numbers. On removing stones, decayed pieces of wood, &c., it is necessary to be very cautious. The instant the scorpion feels himself in contact with any part of the body of a man or beast, he lifts his tail, and with his horny sting inflicts a wound which, though rarely fatal, is still of a very painful nature.[16]
Like the snake, the scorpion is fond of warmth, and it is not uncommon, on awakening in the morning, to find one or two of these horrid creatures snugly ensconced in the folds of the blanket or under the pillow. On one occasion I killed a scorpion measuring nearly seven and a half inches in length, that had thus unceremoniously introduced itself into my bed.
The following morning our guide declared it to be only a few hours’ further traveling to Barmen. We therefore did not hurry our departure, but took ample time to prepare, and to partake of, a substantial breakfast, consisting of some strong coffee, and steaks of zebra-flesh, simply prepared on the hot embers of our bivouac fire.
We arrived at Barmen just as the family was sitting down to dinner, and Mr. Hahn kindly invited us to join in the ample repast. I was happy to find Mr. Galton in the enjoyment of health and excellent spirits, and he seemed delighted at our safe and speedy return.
CHAPTER IX.
Barmen.—Thunder-storm in the Tropics.—A Man killed by Lightning.—Warm Spring.—Mr. Hahn: his Missionary Labor; Seed sown in exceeding stony Ground.—The Lake Omanbondè.—Mr. Galton’s Mission of Peace.—The Author meets a Lion by the way; the Beast bolts.—Singular Chase of a Gnoo.—“Killing two Birds with one Stone.”—A Lion Hunt.—The Author escapes Death by a Miracle.—Consequences of shooting on a Sunday.
At a first glance, Barmen has a rather dreary aspect. Hans thought it resembled many of the most desolate parts of Iceland; but, when more closely examined, it is found to be by no means devoid either of interest or beauty. It is situated about three quarters of a mile from the Swakop, and on its right bank. Toward the west, and immediately behind the station, rise irregular masses of low, broken rocks, ending abruptly on one side in a bluff, about one thousand feet high. The whole are covered with a profusion of shrubs, and several species of thorn-trees of the genus acacia, which, during the greater part of the year, assume every shade of green. To the eastward it faces the Swakop, the course of which is conspicuously marked by the handsome black-stemmed mimosa. Beyond this, the view is limited by a noble range of picturesque mountains, rising between six and seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. These receive additional interest from being more or less a continuation of those mighty chains which take their rise a very few miles from Cape-Town, thus extending, in a direct line, about one thousand miles.
Within a stone’s-throw of the missionary house, a turbulent mountain stream winds its tortuous course. It flows, however, only during heavy rains, when its great fall and violence prove very destructive to the native gardens.
About two years from the period of which I am now writing, I happened to be on a visit to Barmen, on which occasion I witnessed one of those extraordinary phenomena only to be seen to perfection in tropical climes. One afternoon, heavy and threatening clouds suddenly gathered in the eastern horizon, the thunder rolled ominously in the distance, and the sky was rent by vivid lightnings. Knowing, from long experience, its imports, we instantly set about placing every thing under shelter that could be injured by the wet. This was hardly accomplished when large drops of rain began to descend, and in a few seconds the sluice-gates of heaven appeared to have opened. The storm did not last above half an hour, but this short time was sufficient to convert the whole country into one sheet of water. The noise, moreover, caused by the river and a number of minor mountain streams, as they rolled down their dark, muddy torrents in waves rising often as high as ten feet, was perfectly deafening. Gigantic trees, recently uprooted, and others in a state of decay, were carried away with irresistible fury, and tossed about on the foaming billows like so many straws. Every vestige of many gardens was swept away; and some of the native huts, which had been imprudently erected too close to the river, shared a similar fate. Indeed, it must have been a miniature deluge.
Wonderful, however, as is the sudden creation of these floods, the very short time they require to disappear is no less striking. An hour’s sunshine is sometimes sufficient to transform flooded fields into a smiling landscape.